The tattoo soon sounded. Lights were extinguished, and all was quiet, save in a few tents, which appeared to be those of officers. Yet, there were aching hearts within that camp, and, as the night progressed, many were the anxious inquiries as to why Captain Hayward did not return.
In a large tent, near that occupied by Captain Hayward, were seated three ladies. One was Miss Hayward; another was Alibamo, or, as she is now a wife, she should be called Mrs. Adjutant Hinton; the other was Miss Sally Long, the waiting-maid of Alibamo. Before this tent paced a special guard; beside it was a tent of much smaller dimensions, occupied by Nettleton and his servant, black George, or, as Nettleton used to call him, “Swasey’s nigger.”
“I fear something has befallen my brother. He does not return, and it is now twelve o’clock!”
“Don’t be alarmed,” said Alibamo, in a soothing voice; “your brother is most likely at the head-quarters of General Sigel. He may be detained on business. Come, let us retire.”
“No, not while my brother is absent.”
At this moment the guard came to the tent entrance and said:
“Ladies, if you have not yet retired Captain Walker requests the pleasure of a few words with Miss Hayward.”
“Oh, Alibamo, I fear that man; he looks at me so strangely. But perhaps he brings news of my brother. I will see him. Bid the captain enter.”
As Walker entered he appeared agitated, but controlling his emotions, he said:
“Ladies, you will pray excuse me. I feel that I must speak now, as it may be my last opportunity. We—or, I should say the army—will be separated at Springfield, and I shall see you no more.”